When One Woman Pursueth
by DezoPenguin
Summary: When Alys Brangwin is called to Termi to chase down an escaped murderer on behalf of the town's law, she finds that chasing down the killer is only the start of solving the crime.
1. Chapter 1

"So, I'll be hunting down a fugitive for the Termi town law," Alys Brangwin said with a smile. "It seems like I've done this before."

Paul Denton, the town's Chief Marshal, didn't smile. He'd have said it was too much work for a man his size. Alys knew better; Denton was an example of the better class of lawman to be found in Meribia's towns. He was quick-witted, reasonably well-educated, honest without being naive, and cared about his town and the people in it. More than one of Alys's jobs as a hired hunter had brought her to Termi, and she'd come to see the burly marshal as one of the people she could rely on. If he wasn't smiling at a friend's humor, she figured there was a reason.

It turned out there was.

"This one isn't the same," he said. "For one thing, you'll be hunting a murderer, a nasty little cur of a sneak thief who got fast with his knife once too often."

Alys scowled at that. She hated professional thieves, who made a career out of other people's misery and more often than not had a couple of dozen excuses ready to justify why it was all right to steal instead of doing honest work.

"For another," Denton continued, "this one is personal."

"You knew the victim?"

Denton shook his head.

"That isn't it. I did know her, but only because of someone else. She was one of my son Ivor's friends, a girl he...I won't say dated, but they went out together now and again. He was the one that found the body and caught the killer red-handed."

"Wait a second. You said 'caught'?" That didn't hold together too well with the idea of hiring a hunter to chase down the fugitive.

Denton nodded, a grim look on his face.

"Yep, you put your finger on it. He found the killer, but the little snake ran for it and got clean away."

Alys sighed sympathetically.

"That has to hurt."

"Damn hard," he agreed. "That's why I asked the Guild for you right off instead of just asking them to post a general listing. You haul this sneak back in and the boy made a mistake, one he can learn from. The guy gets away, though..."

Denton didn't finish, and he didn't need to. Alys understood well enough without him having to lay his heart bare in words that the marshal's son would blame himself for letting the killer escape and he'd feel that guilt for a long time. It made her wonder just how good a friend the dead woman had been to him, and it made her wonder something else, too.

"Offhand, why is it that Ivor thinks he should have captured the man at all? I mean, most people I know don't just dive in and take on a thief, particularly one who's also a knife fighter standing over a fresh kill. Is he a soldier?"

Denton gave her a wan smile.

"You're still a sharp one. Actually, you might say he went into the family business. He's one of my deputy marshals."

Alys nodded.

"I see."

"He'd have been halfway down the peninsula after Val by now, except the town council doesn't want its lawmen operating outside their jurisdiction. Tourists, you know."

Alys remembered that from previous visits. Termi thrived on tourism; it was a prime vacation spot for visitors from other towns who came for the coastal climate and to visit the Hill of the Person of Courage dedicated to the ancient heroine Alis Landale. The town council, sensitive to the opinions of so many people from other towns, did not want to appear that they were in the habit of empire-building by sending its law officers on official business outside the area where their authority was certain. As a hunter from Aiedo, Alys could do the job on behalf of Termi's marshals without offending the sensibilities of the local politicians. That kind of legalistic hair-splitting generally made her teeth ache, but it was a good commission if she succeeded and that eased the annoyance significantly. Alys always preferred when the stupidity of others worked in her favor.

"You'll want the complete details, of course. I'll let Ivor tell them to you. It'll give him a chance to feel like he's doing something productive, and since he's the eyewitness it'll work better for you anyway to get it from him without my editing."

"That'll be fine. Did you have anything else for me?"

Denton shook his head, making his thick jowls quiver, then reached over and yanked a bell-pull. The door opened to admit a short, blonde clerk with a jaunty ponytail.

"Yes, sir?"

"Take Alys to see Ivor."

"Yes, sir."

The clerk took Alys through the large, airy marshal's headquarters to a large side-room which looked to be the office of the deputies. Though there were several desks and wooden chairs, only one was occupied, making Alys wonder if Denton had arranged it.

"Deputy Denton, this is Alys Brangwin. The Chief Marshal sent her to talk with you."

"You're Alys the Eight-Stroke Sword?" the deputy said. He'd been looking glum, but brightened at Alys's name. This was the precise opposite of Alys's reaction.

"Please, we'll get along better if you don't go using that stupid nickname," she groaned.

The clerk slipped from the room while Ivor Denton had the good grace to look sheepish.

"Sorry, Miss Brangwin."

"Alys."

"Alys, then. I was just so glad that it's you who's come from the Hunter's Guild. I know your reputation as the best hunter on Motavia."

She grabbed a chair from the nearest desk, pulled it over, and sat down.

"Don't waste your time flattering me. Let's get to the point."

Ivor nodded. He had a bit of his father's look to him, with a square build and broad shoulders, but lacked the Chief Marshal's sheer bulk, still possessing the fitness of energetic youth. He wasn't much past twenty years old, which explained a bit of his obvious hero-worship towards Alys, combined with the fact that he was desperate with hope that she would be the heroine he needed her to be, to cover what he saw as his own mistake. He took a deep breath and began the story.

"It was two days ago, in the morning. I was off-duty until nightfall, and I'd arranged for a swimming date with Rilah--that's the victim, Rilah Jenson. She was a friend; we'd known each other since we were children. As teenagers we'd dated now and again, more again than now as time went on." He didn't quite look at Alys, and she deduced that Ivor himself wasn't sure if Rilah had been a kind of habit, a girl to have fun with when his serious emotions were not engaged with someone else, or if he'd hoped to make her something more.

"Go on."

"Rilah had her own house, where she lived with one housekeeper; she had a high-class dress shop but that was a separate building nearer to downtown."

"She must have been doing very well for herself."

"Yes, quite well. She did excellent business with wealthy tourists, especially, who wanted something with a hint of the exotic to remember their trip by. Anyway, when I got there I found Barrett waiting outside, leaning against one of the big palms at the head of her front walk."

"Barrett?"

"Gart Barrett. Rilah's...boyfriend, I guess you'd call him. On again, off again, yeah, but more on than off. I can't say he was my favorite guy, but then again in that situation who would be?"

"I'm guessing that you weren't exactly happy to see him."

"Not," Ivor admitted, "in the slightest." He plunged on with the story.

_"Morning, Barrett."_

_"Denton," the other man replied. He was scowling a bit, clearly displeased, then burst into a sudden grin. "Well, this should answer one question, at least."_

_"Question?"_

_"You're here to see Rilah, right?"_

_"Yes," Ivor answered, then could not help adding, "We were going to go swimming this afternoon."_

_"Oho! That might explain it."_

_"What?"_

_"Why I've been cooling my heels out here for the last half-hour."_

_"That long?"_

_Barrett chuckled._

_"I'm beginning to think she's a bit put out with me. Mita took my message in, but Rilah hasn't deigned to let me in."_

_"Mita?"_

_"The housekeeper." He grinned slyly and added, "I'd have thought you'd been around often enough to know that."_

_Ivor wanted to snarl at his rival's insult, but kept his cool with effort, not wanting to give Barrett the satisfaction._

_"So if you've been obviously ignored, why wait?"_

_"Simple. I want to see if Rilah's just in one of her moods, in which case you'll get the closed door treatment, too, or else it's just me that has the problem. Flowers aren't cheap, and I don't want to start apologizing until I know if I actually did something wrong."_

_"I guess we'll find out now, won't we?"_

_Ivor strolled up the walk and knocked on the door. Meanly, he hoped Barrett would get an eyeful of Rilah letting him in--to say nothing of strolling out with him in her bathing costume. The best revenges were the ones where you didn't have to do a thing._

_Only, no one answered the door._

_Ivor knocked again._

_"Rilah!" he called. "Mita?" Again, however, there was no answer._

_He stormed back down the walk to the grinning Barrett._

_"At least I got the door open."_

_"See here, Barrett, this isn't some stupid game, is it? They're really in there?"_

_"Unless they snuck out a back window. No one's come out that door since I've been here."_

_"Then why doesn't Mita answer? A caller might be anyone, a relative, even an important client." His brow furrowed as he tried to work it out, the deputy marshal starting to take precedence over the man. "I think we should check things out. Something might have happened; someone might be hurt."_

_Barrett nodded, his smile gone. He followed Ivor back up the walk and waited while he peeked in at one of the front windows._

_"Barrett, there's someone on the floor in there!" he hissed. He unslung his heavy truncheon. "Stay behind me."_

_The door was unlocked; the knob turned easily and Ivor swung it open into the room. Like a lot of Motavian homes, the foyer was combined with the living room, and on the far side the figure of a blonde woman in a plain brown dress and white apron was sprawled face down._

_"Mita!" Barrett gasped. Ivor went over to the woman and found that she was breathing, just unconscious. She looked to have been struck across the back of the skull._

_"She's been knocked out," Ivor said._

_"Where's Rilah?" Barrett yelped._

_Ivor's answer was interrupted by a soft scuffling noise from the rear of the house. Someone was there, apparently startled by Barrett's raised voice. The marshal darted down the hall, Barrett at his heels, and burst into the bedroom. A wiry man with a shock of bright green hair was standing at the window, just putting his foot up on the sill, a large pouch bulging at his hip. Drawers and cabinets had been yanked open, their contents spilled out, and ornamental boxes of the type used to hold jewelry lay open and empty on the vanity table._

_"Stop for the law, thief!" Ivor cried, but the green-haired man didn't hesitate, squirming through the narrow window. Ivor sprang across the room, but the thief squeezed through just in time to avoid his grip. The narrow window, Ivor realized, was almost too tight for his larger frame and broad build; he'd have to squeeze and wriggle through, probably taking a minute or more. He'd make better time just going out the front door and running around the house, but either way the practical truth was that the thief would have too much of a head start to catch. He turned to try it anyway, and then all thoughts of pursuit were cut off. Barrett was standing, staring wide-eyed at the bathroom door._

_"Ivor!" he said, his voice halfway between a gasp and a shriek. "It's Rilah! He's..." Barrett swallowed nervously. "He's killed her!" He lifted a shaking finger to point, and when Ivor turned to look he, too saw the corpse of the girl he'd come to visit, the leather-wrapped handle of a knife jutting from her chest._


	2. Chapter 2

Ivor Denton still looked shaken by the experience as he told Alys about finding Rilah's body. She didn't blame him; while life on the desert planet was difficult and often bitter, even a law officer didn't stumble over bodies dead by violence often enough to get blase about it. Alys's own ease with such things had come from hard experience more than from her admittedly pragmatic nature, so she could sympathize. Worse, of course, was that he'd known and cared about the victim.

"She'd been stabbed, once," Ivor said once he regained his composure. "The knife had been left in the wound, like I said, probably to cut down on blood spatter according to Fath--to the Chief Marshal."

"It's okay to call him your dad, Ivor, and he's probably right. No thief wants to go running through town with a bloodstained shirt. That showed quick thinking on the murderer's part; it's much more natural to hold on to your weapon in a fight."

"Just a natural-born killer, for all it's his first time."

"His first time? Then you know the man."

Ivor nodded.

"He was sneaky enough. He hit Mita from behind without being seen--all she knew was that she was bringing Barrett's message to Rilah, then she felt a sudden pain in her head, and that was it. We figure that's why she was left alive. The knife didn't have identifying marks, either; it was just an ordinary single-edged blade, as much tool as weapon. The wound was a single downward stab, indicating the killer was Rilah's height or taller, but she was only five feet tall so that's no clue. But Barrett and I both saw him, saw his face. He's a known petty thief and housebreaker named Renno Val, even did a term of hard labor. His sketch was in our files, and Barrett and I both recognized him at once. Several other people recognized him, too--he apparently ran back to his lodging-house, grabbed up a rucksack he kept packed, and got out of town as fast as possible."

A crook who anticipated having to clear out fast would often keep the essentials of travel packed and ready, Alys knew. The few minutes it would take to pack from scratch often meant the difference between a clean getaway and the clubs and shackles of the law.

"He's got a two-day head start," Ivor said, "but he was heading south down the peninsula when he was last seen. Unless he's planning to catch a boat to Torinco, there's nothing that way."

"So did he just panic? If Val planned ahead enough to be packed to flee, and was clear-headed enough to grab his supplies before leaving town, I'd say he had some kind of plan. At least more than 'run off into the wilderness to die,' don't you think?"

Ivor looked at her sourly. He didn't like what he was hearing, but he was at least listening.

"What kind of plan?"

Alys shrugged.

"It could be just about anything. A boat hidden away for emergencies like you were saying, a gang of bandits he wanted to join up with, a hideout where he can hole up for a while as the hue and cry dies down, a knowledge of the terrain so he can get searchers looking in the wrong direction while he goes somewhere else, and that's just what I can think up off the top of my head. It may not be a complicated or clever plan, but there's going to be one."

"So you think it's no use?"

Alys gave Ivor a look.

"I didn't say I can't catch him. I'm just trying to give you a reality check about what we're up against. Your father would say the same thing if you were talking to him. Never assume that your quarry is going to conveniently act like a moron. They often do, but it's a lot easier to assume he's smart and take advantage of stupidity than it is to assume he's an idiot and learn he's not the hard way."

"Yes, Mom," Ivor said with a grin.

"Don't make me hurt you." The smile, however, was good to see. It meant that he had hope. Now all Alys had to do was to make it come true.

-X X X-

Tracking a man on foot across the fertile land surrounding Termi and the rocky desert just beyond it wasn't the easiest job in the world, but neither was it the most difficult. It helped that Termi was essentially the last outpost of civilization along the peninsula, so that when Alys found reasonably fresh trail sign leaving the tracks between the town and farms it had a good chance of being what she was looking for. What soon surprised her was that it didn't appear that Val was trying to double back. Based on what she knew of the area, that would be the expected move.

_Maybe he _does_ have a boat stashed down the coast?_ Chief Marshal Denton had sent letter transmissions to the nearby fishing hamlets alerting them of the murderer on the run, so it wasn't certain Val could pay for a ride from someone else. And there just wasn't anywhere else to _go_ on the peninsula. It was surrounded by water, with Termi at the north end where it joined the continent. There were no trade routes in that direction, so joining up with a bandit gang was out of the question.

Alys had expected to find that Val had sought out terrain where he could conceal his tracks, then try to slip back north, towards the hope of civilization, but that just wasn't happening.

_He has to be intending to hide out,_ Alys decided after a couple of days. _He's going to hole up somewhere, wait out the pursuit, and then when everyone's more or less just going through the motions, _that's_ when he'll try to make his getaway._

The question was, where was his hideout? A hill cave conveniently close to water or with a spring inside? Someone's abandoned shack?

It was on the third day when she figured out where he was going. and it almost made her laugh. Sometimes things just worked out right for her. Alys pushed on southward with increased speed, and with her overall fitness and experience at travel figured that she'd shaved several hours, perhaps whole days, off of Val's lead by the time she saw the slender, tapering spire of the Ladea Tower rearing up into the sky. The sweeping curve of its sides and the stonelike-yet-not-stone materials of its construction marked it as a relic of ancient civilization, dating back to the Great Collapse or even longer.

The idea of using the tower as a hiding place wasn't itself bad. The place had an evil reputation in Termi. Pursuers weren't likely to comfortably follow a man onto cursed ground, and they were even less likely to think to look there if they didn't actually know it was where their quarry had gone.

There was, however, one major flaw in that plan. It would be impossible for Val to hide out inside the Ladea Tower, because he couldn't _get_ inside it. It didn't matter if he was the most expert thief in the world, because the tower was sealed not by locked doors and barred gates, but by magic. In her younger days, Alys had traveled with the Esper Rune Walsh, who'd been the one to do it. Indeed, that seal was probably part of where the Ladea Tower's reputation had come from in the first place.

Alys was cautious in her approach to the tower. Had Val given up and left? Or would he search for some secret entrance? After all, one could just walk through the southern entrance into the tower's ground floor, which was a single windowless atrium-like room. The seal, Rune had explained, was on the stairs that led into the higher levels above. It made them not only invisible but intangible as well--a person's mind would trick themselves into walking _around_ them when they thought they were walking through supposedly empty space. Val could try as hard as he liked, but he'd never find the way up without breaking the seal's magic.

There were tracks in the dust leading into the tower, Alys observed with a feral grin. There were none coming out. She drew her slashers, boomerang-like blade weapons that could be thrown to slice up one or a row of enemies and would then come back to her hand. Alys snapped open the blades of one slasher into their throwing position, but left the other folded. With the blades closed, the slasher could work as a makeshift dagger, albeit without a hand-guard and with a grip not designed for either stabbing or cutting. Her senses at a fever pitch, she stepped inside. Alys kept herself in the center of the broad archway--an exposed target that way, but also as distant as possible from the only ambush spots.

It proved to be a good decision. Val had been lurking just inside the right side of the arch, but he had to take several steps to reach Alys, far too much of a delay to successfully surprise someone who knew where the attack would have to come from and was ready for it. Alys parried, striking aside the low thrust at her abdomen, then stepped in and delivered a backfist to his chin with the hand holding the open slasher. Val staggered two steps back but quickly regained his footing.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to surrender and come quietly?" Alys offered, mostly for form's sake and not with any real expectation of success.

"Don't be stupid," Val sneered. He held his dagger low, his thumb against the flat side of the blade, and Alys cursed mentally. Just her luck to get an enemy who knew what he was doing in a fight.

"Yeah, I suppose coming back to be hanged isn't really a sensible idea," she admitted.

"Hanged?" Val said, or rather yelped.

"Don't they hang you for murder in Termi? I can never remember all the different rules."

"You can't trick me," Val laughed. "I know you're just a thief after my take."

He struck then, coming in straight at her in a thrust that was deceptively difficult to avoid. Most people tried to retreat or parry, unaware that their reflexes would be a step behind the attacker's. Alys used the open space to her advantage, though, though, dodging to the side and letting Val charge past. As he did, she pointed the folded slasher at the back of his legs and unleashed the Foi technique. The sudden blast of heat and force against his calves knocked him sprawling, but he rolled suddenly, his own open hand coming up, and Alys flung herself aside just in time to avoid taking the surge of stinging cold and ice crystals from his Wat technique full in the face.

They both got to their feet as fast as they could, but Alys was quicker and she could see a sheen of sweat on Val's face. As a matter of course, hunters trained to master any techniques they could and built their skill with the semi-mystical abilities, but ordinary people generally did not unless their profession encouraged it. Val knew a tech or two--luckily not any of the teleportation ones or he'd have been long gone--but he didn't have the mental resources to keep firing them off one after the other. A knife in the belly and a slashed throat was his preferred fighting style.

Val charged her, quickly closing the gap between them, but Alys seized the initiative, striking out to force the thief to react instead of act. Steel rang against steel as their blades clashed, parrying and cutting. Alys had an edge in size and strength over the wiry thief, but his knife was made for this kind of fighting while her slashers were strictly makeshift work for hand-to-hand combat.

Worse yet, after a few passes she was starting to get the impression that Val was a better knife-fighter than she was.

A second later, his blade gashed Alys's left hand and sent the folder slasher spinning away out of her grip. She grunted in pain and used her leg, kicking at his knee to put Val off-balance. He caught his footing again, though, and started another attack. In the half-second she'd gained, Alys hurled the open slasher at Val's feet. It skimmed along the ground, but suddenly glowed with orange light and exploded upwards, spinning around Val's body in a vortex of whirling energy that cut and slashed at the thief.

The slasher broke off at the top of its spin and sailed back to Alys's hand; she snapped the blades shut and hooked it back onto her belt. Val pitched forward, crashing to the tower floor, sprawled lifelessly. Alys kicked the knife away from the dead man's hand reflexively--too often she'd seen those only _almost_ dead or merely stunned recover enough for a desperate trick--before she stripped off her left glove and took a look at the wound. It was a nasty, deep gash that stung like blazes, but looked to be a clean cut. Alys drained a dose of Monomate and in moments the healing medicine had done its work, the cut having healed over with fresh, pink skin, not even leaving a scar that might have reduced the mobility of her fingers.

Monomate was remarkable stuff, but it wouldn't do anything for Renno Val. The thief was dead. He wasn't the first man Alys had killed in battle, but it still bothered her. She didn't feel guilty--he'd chosen to fight and had certainly been doing his best to kill her--but it was still a waste.

_Particularly_, she thought glumly, _since he isn't even the man I'm looking for._


	3. Chapter 3

The faces of the Dentons, father and son, greeted Alys with nearly identical expressions of fierce satisfaction upon her return to Termi.

"I hear you were successful," the Chief Marshal said. Since she'd stopped off at the undertaker to leave Val's corpse behind before reporting in, the news had had time to reach him. She swung up a heavy pack and dropped it on his desk with a thump.

"Here's his cache. There's a fair amount there, both valuables and meseta. You'll find whatever he stole from Ms. Jenson, and probably some things from other victims, too."

"That's something at least. I'm surprised, though, that you took the time to haul his body back to town."

"So am I. But it's proof that he really is dead, not that you'd doubt me but it looks good in an official record. And I guess I must be going soft, besides, because I thought he ought to get a decent burial."

"What?" burst incredulously from Ivor's lips. "A murdering sneak thief who cut down a defenseless girl who just happened to be in his way? The only thing he deserved was to be left for dead in the dust. I just wish you could have brought him back so I could have seen him dance on air."

"I wish I could have brought him back, too. Then I could have testified for him at the trial. Val might have been a sneak thief, and I'm pretty sure he's killed someone before somewhere since anyone that good with a knife has had experience using it, but he didn't kill Ms. Jenson. I knew it right away once the fight got going."

Ivor looked at Alys like she was a madwoman.

"I told you, I _saw_ him there. I was as close as I am to you right now."

"I know. That's half of the reason why I know he's innocent. So should you, for that matter. I'm kicking myself for not guessing it before I left this building."

Ivor was about to say something, but his father held up a thick-fingered hand like a Native Motavian's paw without the fur to cut him off.

"What do you mean, Alys?"

"Ivor, you told me that Barrett said he'd been waiting half an hour, right?"

"That's right."

"And that Mita said she was hit right after Barret gave her the message for Rilah?"

He nodded again.

"Well, there you have it. If Val had hit the housekeeper, why was he still there for you to find? Why wasn't he long gone? He'd searched the bedroom, yes, but that wouldn't take a skilled thief half an hour, and you didn't notice any damage in the front areas to indicate a more extensive search--unless you just didn't mention it."

Ivor shook his head.

"No, no, there weren't any signs of a search."

"There you go, then. If he'd knocked out Mita, then he shouldn't have been there a half-hour later, and if he didn't knock her out then I'd say that whomever did is more likely to be the killer."

The elder Denton nodded ponderously.

"It's suggestive, but not proof. Val _might_ have stayed the whole time to make a careful search of the bedroom, or some other reason. He could even have been shaken by the murder and needed a few minutes to compose himself; people sometimes do. For that matter, Mita might have slipped, hit her head, and knocked herself out and that would have nothing to do with the killing at all, which would throw off your whole time analysis."

"Those are good points," Alys agreed. "Like I said, that's only half of the reason I know he didn't do it. By itself, it's just fishy."

"So what's the other half?" Ivor challenged.

"The death wound was one stab down into the heart, right? That means an overhand strike, like this." She picked up a pen off Denton's desk and mimed plunging it down into Ivor's chest. "Right?"

"Exactly right," said the Chief Marshal.

Alys flipped the pen back onto his desk.

"You've been keeping the peace here pretty long," she said to him, "so I'm sure you've seen plenty of knife fights and stabbings. Did you ever see anyone who knew how to use a knife stab somebody that way?"

"No," Denton said, comprehension dawning. "No, I haven't."

"Right. It's a natural move, but a bad one. A knife-fighter stabs low; it's harder to block and there aren't any of those pesky ribs to get in the way of the blade. Only someone who doesn't train with a knife, doesn't use one regularly in fighting, stabs overhand. Val ran from you, Ivor, so you didn't get a chance to fight him, but I did, and he definitely knew what he was doing with a knife, enough to give me trouble. That's why he's dead now, because he was good enough that I couldn't just disarm and capture him but not good enough to actually beat me."

"Maybe he wanted it to look like someone else had done it, someone unskilled," suggested Ivor.

Alys snorted, expressing her opinion of that idea.

"Why on Motavia would he have done that? Nobody thinks that way if they have to quickly kill someone who's discovered them robbing their house."

"She's right, Ivor," his father agreed. "In the case of a premeditated killing that would be one thing, but Val wouldn't have played fancy games with the murder. He'd have struck fast and been done with it."

"But he was _there_," Ivor protested again.

"A coincidence," Alys said with a shrug. "He was a thief and Rilah Jenson was a working woman. The best time to rob her would be the daytime, when she would be expected to be at her shop. It was just Val's bad luck that he picked a day she wasn't at work, and his worse luck that he blundered into a murder scene just in time to be mistaken for the killer."

She shook her head.

"He was a thief and probably worse, but he died for this crime and he didn't commit it."

Ivor still looked as if he couldn't believe what she was saying, but his father was another story. Denton's mouth had curved into a thoughtful frown and he drummed his thick, blunt fingertips on the desk.

"Granting your point, Alys," he said, "then what's your explanation of what did happen?"

She looked over at Ivor, holding his gaze.

"Don't you know?"

"You can't be accusing me?"

She shook her head.

"No, I'm accusing your rival, Gart Barrett."

"You can't be serious."

"Why not? You told me the motive yourself, a lover's quarrel between Barrett and Rilah. Barrett hinted at it, too, when he talked about whether or not he'd have to apologize. He was laying the groundwork for if you found out about it; better by far if he'd told you himself in the ordinary course of conversation."

"But it doesn't make sense. Why would he stand there and wait around after he'd committed a murder?"

Alys sighed.

"To discover it with you and present an alibi for the crime."

Ivor had nothing more to say; bewilderment had completely replaced his earlier relief at Alys's apparent success. His father, again, was a different case.

"Can you prove it?" he asked simply. "I can't arrest a man on motive alone, particularly where there's another suspect who'd look better to a jury."

Alys nodded.

"That's fair enough. He told Ivor outright that he knew Ivor was coming. Remember?" she prompted the young man.

"No, I...no, wait, that's right. He said that he was waiting to see if I got the same treatment he did."

"So how did he know you were going to come along? You didn't tell him, did you?"

"Of course not."

"So obviously Rilah had to."

"Right, and..." It started to sink in. "But he didn't talk with her. She never saw him."

"Didn't she?" Alys folded her arms across her chest. "Try this out. Barrett tells Mita that he's there, she goes back to tell Rilah, and he follows her into the house and hits her. Then he confronts Rilah personally. They argue, and he does what he intended from the start: he stabs her dead. Then, after setting the stage, he goes outside and waits. By the way, Ivor, you can congratulate yourself. Your date with Rilah probably saved Mita's life. She knew that he'd been there, but Barrett's plan to wait for you made that evidence in his favor, corroborating the tiniest part of the story but making the whole _look_ accurate."

The Chief Marshal folded his hands.

"I don't doubt you, Alys, but we need some kind of proof. Unless Barrett gets scared and confesses, there's no way to prove he's guilty."

Alys smiled wryly.

"Try that," she said and pointed to Val's pack.

"I thought you said Val's presence was a coincidence?"

"Of course it was. That's the point. Barrett set the stage so he and your son would 'find' the result of someone breaking in from the back of the house, presumably a thief. He couldn't count on a _real_ thief showing up to help him lay a false trail. He must have been dancing for joy when you saw Val. He was wrong, of course. An imaginary thief couldn't be caught, couldn't have his fighting skills tested, and couldn't have his loot recovered. He'd left town on the run, so he didn't have time to fence anything. Whatever he stole from Rilah Jenson, it's in there."

Denton caught on to what she was driving at, and a broad smile began to spread across his features.

"Mita?" he asked.

"Right. As the housekeeper, I'm sure she can identify several of Rilah's most significant valuables. If Barrett wanted to show that a thief was there, he'd have taken a few things, which means they wouldn't have been there for Val to snag. I agree that a jury might not believe a complex plot happened when a thief was caught in the act on the scene, but I strongly doubt they'll buy that _two_ random thieves robbed the same house within half an hour of each other."

"Particularly," Denton agreed, "if we should happen to find out where Barrett stashed the items he stole. In fact, if we drop a few hints in that direction, he might try to hide the stuff and we could catch him at it."

"And this time," Ivor said grimly, "we won't have to hire you to chase him down for us."


End file.
